


Those Who Run (seem to have all the fun)

by simplecoffee



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Torture, implied/referenced past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27925120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplecoffee/pseuds/simplecoffee
Summary: Natalia doesn't know who she is, only who she was. And she knows a great deal about SHIELD - far more than she's told the KGB.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4
Collections: Torture Flash Exchange 2020





	Those Who Run (seem to have all the fun)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Val_Creative](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/gifts).



Silence comes easily to her; it always has. When they decide that pain is what will make her talk, they don't take into account how deeply silence runs through her veins. They don't take into account that those who run, who defect, might talk more easily when greeted with a fireside and a warm meal than...this.

Of course, there's the fact that they don't know she was running.

Hawkeye is not among the people she sees. There's no way to find out how much he's said. Perhaps he's in recovery, still; perhaps they think she's the one who injured him, not the one who saved his life before he spared hers in turn. 

When the first knife slices into her, she laughs.

They think he subdued her, captured her. A very American point of view, her people - those who were _once_ her people - would say. Natalia knows better; knows that her people are no better. There are rites of passage everywhere, and everywhere there are grunts like this, people sent to cause pain in the hope of extracting truth. Not so long ago, she was one of them. 

She breathes through the pain. She doesn't breathe a word. _Who are you? What's your mission? Who sent you? Who was your target? Who's your target now? What is your mission?_ Each question is a sharp, burning cut, long and deep, down her side, up her leg, across her shoulder. Each flash of pain is a moment of clarity, a searing heat her body carries and remembers, until the moment when it all finally - finally - begins to blur. 

She lets herself laugh again, then, through parched lips, her tongue dry. Any other day she'd feign arousal, get the Americans riled up and furious. Today, amusement is enough, and she doesn't even have to fake it. She's been strapped to tables before, trained to withstand exactly this, and she wonders when they're going to realize that if she wanted to leave here, leave every single one of them dead with no trace of her on the records, she would've been out of here long ago. She didn't have a mission. Her mission was her life. 

Her mission was to get here, and start anew.

Natalia doesn't know who she is, only who she was. And she knows a great deal about SHIELD - far more than she's told the KGB. Nothing these people could do to her would be worse than what the Red Room put her through - worse than leaving her 'sisters' behind, realizing they'd never been sisters at all, just a group of little girls trying to stay alive, even if it meant cutting each other's throats. None of them would come with her when she asked, in veiled terms and code words - they'd sooner abandon her than their training, just as their training would have them do. For better or worse, Natalia took a decision, and now there's no looking back.

She thinks the Americans could probably stand to torture her better, really. As more and more important people show up one after the other to visit her cell, the truly effective ways don't even seem to cross their minds. She doesn't tempt fate by giving them tips, but she grins up at every new agent who tries to break her, even when she's bitten through the inside of her cheek and she knows her teeth are stained with blood.

-

She wakes up in a dark room, a cool cloth lying over her forehead. A drop of water inches its way down her temple, into her hair. She'd pull the cloth down to rest over her eyes - the only part left of her now that's not numb - but her hands are still strapped down, and besides, there's someone in the room.

They've put her on ice. Literally, perhaps. There's coolness at each of her several wounds, coolness in her veins. In a few hours, when it all wears off, she knows she'll be on fire again. She doesn't tempt fate by moving.

"You're awake."

"Nicholas Fury." Her words are slurred, the Russian accent slipping in, heavy as her tongue meets her teeth. She'll learn the American insolence, someday, she tells herself - learn the uncaring, lighthearted arrogance with which their agents speak to those who keep them in chains. "Oh, Mr Fury, you look surprised. You don't keep as low a profile as you think."

Nick Fury moves into her line of vision. He's an imposing man. Stern. She thinks, compassionate. "Agent, I'm sorry about our hospitality so far. This isn't usually how we treat our guests."

She laughs. Again, she doesn't even have to fake it. It's been a funny day. "I would have thought this was all in a day's work for you."

"Not so much. Heads will roll. From now on you'll only be dealing with me and the medical staff assigned to your care, until you've recovered." It's an about-face she hadn't expected, but she'll take what she can get - even if it's a lie. "I see they've been asking you why Hawkeye spared you."

"Perhaps they should ask that of Hawkeye."

Fury grins, quick and fleeting, like there's something only the two of them know.

Then he asks, "Why'd you spare _him_?"

Natalia looks up, and feels herself smile.

"You're smarter than you look, Fury," she tells him.

"Welcome to America, Agent," he says.


End file.
